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The Lone Empress- An Excerpt

Posted on by Penguin India

Today, Jayalalithaa, a woman who successfully challenged the mainstream values of Tamil Nadu politics, was born. Jayalalithaa’s journey from a glamour queen to a towering political leader is one of the most extraordinary stories of contemporary India.

The Lone Empress candidly chronicles Jayalalithaa’s tumultuous political life, examining her battle with intra-party rivalry to become the first elected woman chief minister of India; the long-lasting hostility with her rivals; her pursuit of support from the Centre for political survival; and her discomfort with criticism and dissent.

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

The AIADMK was now a divided house. The anti-Jayalalithaa wave inside the party gathered momentum and some leaders made her a target of attack in public meetings. The pro-Jayalalithaa group in the party retaliated with equal vehemence, while MGR tried to ignore what was going on. Perhaps he knew what was in store when he suddenly fell ill on 5 October 1984 and was rushed to Apollo Hospital. He had suffered a stroke and lost his speech. His kidneys had stopped functioning. He was also suffering from diabetes. This had been discovered only a few months earlier, when he complained of giddiness at a function in Thanjavur. MGR was always very secretive about his health problems, not wishing the public to know of them. He must have hidden his problems even from Jayalalithaa who, therefore, was shocked when she learnt that he was in the intensive care unit (ICU), fighting for his life.

Fearing the political fallout if the public and the Opposition came to know, the top brass decided that visitors, especially Jayalalithaa, should not be allowed. Of course, there was no question of allowing press reporters, with their cameras, anywhere in the vicinity. RMV was worried that if MGR’s face, which looked ghastly now, was photographed and shown to people, they would think it was lifeless.

Within no time, all hell would break loose. He most certainly did not want Jayalalithaa to step into the hospital. She was good at theatrics and could go out and declare that MGR was in no position to hold office any more or, for that matter, even likely to live. Pro- Jayalalithaa party members noticed that MGR’s relatives were allowed to see him. Vaali from the film world could see him. RMV could see him. But Jayalalithaa, who had been propaganda secretary of the party until the previous month, could not.

Solai says, ‘When MGR was admitted into Apollo, these men decided to finish her off. They even planned to have her beaten up. Dr Pratap Reddy, chairman, Apollo Hospital, came to know of this and asked her not to visit MGR in the hospital. Anything could happen when she was in the lift. Later, Thirunavukkarasu would go in a pilot car and K.K.S.S.R. Ramachandran would follow her in another’, as a precaution. Thirunavukkarasu, an AIADMK member and her ardent supporter, later turned against her and would join the Congress, while K.K.S.S.R. Ramachandran became an opponent and joined the DMK.

With the chief minister suddenly taking ill, the state assembly was adjourned sine die. V.R. Nedunchezhian was made acting chief minister. The entire cabinet was camping at the hospital, expecting the worst. Following the doctors’ diagnosis, it was decided that a neurologist, a cardiologist and an urologist be brought from the US. Dr Hande, who was then health minister, went by chartered plane to fetch the doctors after they reached Delhi. They were surprised to find the patient still alive. In spite of the panel of experts attending to him, MGR’s condition became critical on 18 October. Soon he was shifted to the Brooklyn Hospital, New York, for treatment. When Jayalalithaa came to know of this she was devastated.

With MGR away in the US, things became difficult for her. She was being deliberately alienated from the party by the seniors. It is said that Jayalalithaa approached Indira Gandhi for support, which could only have been a moral support. Jayalalithaa was aware that the prime minister was well disposed towards her as was evident from her association with Indira Gandhi in Delhi. Jayalalithaa must have been confident that Indira Gandhi would step in as her mentor. The Congress and the AIADMK were alliance partners and Jayalalithaa probably thought that if something happened to MGR, she could muster support from Indira Gandhi to strengthen her position. Jayalalithaa was still a greenhorn in politics and one does not know exactly what was on her mind. She briefed Mrs Gandhi on how she was being sidelined by senior party men, who were being vindictive out of selfish reasons. Indira Gandhi, though sympathetic, apparently advised Jayalalithaa to be patient.

The Lone Empress  is available now!

7 Essentials of Writing a Letter

Posted on by Penguin India

The art of letter writing emerged long before phone calls or long text messages. Past generations will know well the anticipation that came with sending and receiving letter – a process that could sometimes take months. Perhaps it is this anticipation that made letters so special – it meant communication from a loved one or old friend that were miles away.

Letters have since been known to change lives, bring together lover or reconnect old friends. With Love explores the art of letter writing and encourages us to take it up ourselves.

So, whether you are writing to a friend, a long lost love or even family, here are 7 things essential for writing a letter, to keep in mind:

A warm greeting

The way you begin your letter is a great segue into what you are writing. Thinking about how to start your letter is the equivalent of saying ‘hello’ in person – make it familiar and personal. You could start with a fond nickname or word that you and the receiver use to call each other. It helps remind the person of the fondness they share with you and makes it feel like you’re right there greeting them!

Write about fond memories

No matter the content and purpose of the letter, context is always important and appreciated. Whether it’s reminding the receiver of where you met, or reminiscing over a fond memory that you share, mention a memory before proceeding to the main body of your letter.

Be concise

Although letters are great for free flowing thought and expression it is important not to drag them out too much or else the point of your letter will come across jumbled and confusing. Think about what you want to say and the best way in which to say it without dragging it out.

Work on your penmanship

It doesn’t matter how a letter looks – embellishments and decoration is at the discretion of the writer. It is however, to have clear and legible handwriting in order for the reader to understand what is written – if not, they will just be lost words!

Remember to mark the date of writing

Although it may not seem important at the time, noting the day, date and month (sometimes even the time!) is a handy element of a letter that helps place when the letter was intended to be read and how much time has passed since it was written!

Ask questions

Letters are a good place to express your thoughts, but they are ultimately about communication. Remember to address your reader and ask questions about them or their thoughts – this shows that you are interested in what they think and also prompts a response to your letter! Whether it is asking for an opinion, advice or simply asking how they are doing, be sure to include a question or two toward the end of your letter.

End on a positive, personal note

Ending your letter is the last thing you can write to your reader until your next one. Try and make it personal to them, ending with a note of love or friendship!

These are some essential tips on writing a letter if you are inspired by the letters in With Love. Give letter writing a go today and send some to old friends or family!

A Window To the Calcutta We Love from ‘Sarojini’s Mother’

Posted on by Penguin India

Sarojini-Saz-Campbell comes to India to search for her biological mother. Adopted and taken to England at an early age, she has a degree from Cambridge and a mathematician’s brain adept in solving puzzles. Handicapped by a missing shoebox that held her birth papers and the death of her English mother, she has few leads to carry out her mission and scant knowledge of Calcutta, her birthplace.

In Sarojini’s Mother, Kunal Basu takes us to Calcutta and offers a window into the city we love. Below are some of the highlights of Calcutta from her book.

 

Rex; the tourist trap

“Like most tourist traps that flaunted names like Copacabana or Casino Royale, its daytime business thrived on fruit juice and Western food easy on the stomach. Like chilli-less omelette and salads washed thoroughly in bottled water. At night on Thursdays, which was a dry day in the city, the owner would slip you a joint or a bottle of rum.”

The Calcutta Tram

“My foreign friends love the tram. It reminds them of the nineteenth century. Astride the rickety chairs smelling of stale urine, they can imagine black-and-white photos of horses chugging along the rolling stock, sahibs in top hats and half-naked natives.The Calcutta trams the oldest in Asia, I tell them, older than Shanghai’s. Like an old man, it totters along, unable to keep up with cyclists and walkers. In return for slowness, it offers a welcome respite from the crowds.”

Afternoons, on the street outside the Rex

“With the morning gone, now afternoon prayers had shops shutting down and the crowd had thinned. Siesta time in force, fewer rickshaws plied the streets and travelling salesmen had set down their wares to take a well-deserved rest. The trees were the ones to rise to the occasion, cooling everyone with fanning boughs that ferried the smell of rice and assorted meals cooked by the eateries to feed the hungry. With the fight over leftovers won, dogs had settled down under shadows, gawked at with envy by a caucus of crows.”

Similar afternoons in the slum

“The slum was quiet in the afternoon, the dwellers dozing after the morning’s hard work. Street dogs, normally defensive of territory, gave us free passage. The sound of radio drama came from the huts, and the occasional whimper of a hungry child.”

A lovers’ haunt; The Planetarium

“‘Why is this place so popular with lovers?’ Saz whispered as we settled down. ‘Because it’s dark here and they can do whatever they like.’ I thought I should tell her the truth. ‘Without a place of their own, it’s hard for couples to be intimate. Here nobody minds them. The guards turn a blind eye to the hanky-panky.’”

The Museum that makes you feel like you are in London

“You feel you are in London, not Calcutta, as soon as you walk into the National Museum. Once called the Imperial Museum, it was the nation’s oldest and largest. Villagers, who thronged there on holidays, called it Jaadughar—the House of Enchantments. I took Saz to the museum to bring up a delicate matter.”

The Special Exhibit of the Egyptian Mummy at the Museum

“‘Why bring a mummy over from Egypt to Calcutta?’ Saz sounded genuinely surprised. The reason wasn’t clear to me, but it could’ve had something to do with the Brith moving their possessions around like a rich man moves a vase from the hallway to the parlour. Because of its eerie reputation, the mummy room was the quietest spot in the museum, perfect to raise the delicate matter with Saz.”

Calcutta Racecourse; Close cousin of England’s Ascot.

“The grandstand, which was the gallery for commoners, was already at bursting point, tea stalls busy and toilets frantic. Dignitaries arrived amidst great commotion at the members’ stand, flaunting vintage cars with shining brass fittings…Our Calcutta racecourse was a close cousin of England’s Ascot, but the super jackpot days were rough, Suleiman had told me. The smell of money attracted quite a lot of riff-raff, and the cash counters needed extra protection.”

A Hotel in a neighbourhood that fits even guidebook’s description

“Squeezed between a barber’s salon and a travel agent, [the Peace Hotel] was easy to miss in a neighbourhood that fitted every guidebook’s description of Calcutta, being the perfect location for noise and dust, impossible crowds and bullish traffic. Set against the imposing backdrop of the National Museum, it flaunted jam-packed alleys dealing in trinkets by day and drugs by night.”

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Read Sarojini’s Mother for more of Calcutta and find out if the verdict of science will settle the puzzle of motherhood for Sarojini.

A Story Worth (Re)Telling

Posted on by Penguin India

The Ramcharitmanas is one of the most popular and celebrated devotional texts in India. It’s cultural and traditional significance stands even today.

Composed by the poet-saint Tulsidas in the sixteenth-century during a period of religious reforms, this text was instrumental in making the story of Ram, his feats against Ravan, and the values he stood for accessible to the common people as opposed to just the priestly class.

Rohini Chowdhury’s latest translation of the magnum opus makes it even more accessible to a new and wide readership. The story and its teachings are as relevant as ever in the world today.

Read on to find an excerpt from Rohini Chowdhury’s introduction, in which she conveys the enduring significance of this text and why she decided to translate it:

 

My own engagement with Tulsidas began one crisp autumn night fifty years ago in a small town by the banks of the Ganga, when I saw my first performance of the Ram Lila. The sky was sprinkled with stars but I had eyes only for the drama unfolding upon the crude wooden stage before me, where the story had reached a critical point: Hanuman’s tail was to be set on fire. The sets were crude, the costumes garish, the acting unsophisticated— but the story transcended all such concerns, such was its magic and power. I did not know it then, but that was also my first intimate encounter with the Ramcharitmanas, upon which the Ram Lila is based. Growing up, Tulsi’s poem was always around me—chanted in the homes of friends or neighbours, sung on the radio, or the theme of plays and dance dramas. So when the opportunity came to translate it into English for Penguin India, I accepted it with alacrity—and the last five years that I have spent walking behind Tulsi, one of the greatest literary minds of all time, have been a pleasure and a privilege. My translation does not do justice to Tulsi’s extraordinary poetic genius. His use of wordplay, his rhymes and alliteration, and the sheer musicality of his poem I have found impossible to capture in English. I have therefore contented myself with being as clear and accurate as possible in my translation, and to convey, to the best of my ability, the scale and grandeur of his great poem.

The Ramayana tradition

For at least the last two and a half thousand years, poets, writers, folk performers, and religious and social reformers have drawn upon the story of Ram as a source of inspiration. It has been told again and again in countless forms and dozens of languages, making it one of the most popular and enduring stories in the world. More than any other hero, Ram has been upheld as dharma personified, the epitome of righteousness, and his actions as the guide for right conduct. In recent times, the story has provided inspiration for films, novels, and in the late 1980s, a weekly television series watched by more than eighty million viewers.

The oldest and most influential surviving literary telling of the story of Ram is the Sanskrit epic called the Ramayana. Composed sometime during the first millennium bce, and consisting of some 50,000 lines in verse set in seven kands or books, it is attributed to the poet Valmiki, and is widely  regarded as the ‘original’. The influence of Valmiki’s Ramayana has been so profound that the title of his epic has come to denote the entire tradition, from oral and folk performances to literary texts and translations. Within this rich and varied tradition also lie the Ramayana songs from Telangana, the folk performances of the Ram Lila in northern India, the eleventh-century Tamil Iramavataram (‘The Incarnation of Ram’) by Kamban, and Tulsidas’s Ramcharitmanas.

Published across three volumes, this translation brings alive the story of Lord Ram like never before!

Death: The Most Fundamental Question – An Excerpt From ‘Death’

Posted on by Penguin India

Death is a taboo in most societies in the world. But what if we have got this completely wrong? What if death was not the catastrophe it is made out to be but an essential aspect of life, rife with spiritual possibilities for transcendence? For the first time, someone is saying just that.

In this unique treatise-like exposition, Sadhguru dwells extensively upon his inner experience as he expounds on the more profound aspects of death that are rarely spoken about. From a practical standpoint, he elaborates on what preparations one can make for one’s death, how best we can assist someone who is dying and how we can continue to support their journey even after death.

Whether a believer or not, a devotee or an agnostic, an accomplished seeker or a simpleton, this is truly a book for all those who shall die!

Here’s an excerpt from the book:

Death is a very fundamental question. Actually, death is closer to us than the statistics we read about it. Each moment, death is happening in us at the organ and cellular levels. This is how, with just one look at your insides, your doctor knows how old you are. In fact, death began in us even before we were born. Only if you are ignorant and unaware does it seem like death will come to you someday later. If you are aware, you will see both life and death are happening every moment. If you as much as breathe a little more consciously, you will notice that with every inhalation there is life, with every exhalation there is death. Upon birth, the first thing that a child does is to inhale, to take in a gasp of air. And the last thing that you will do in your life is an exhalation. You exhale now, and if you do not take the next inhalation, you will be dead. If you do not get this, just do an exhalation, hold your nose and do not do the next inhalation. Within a few moments, every cell in your body will start screaming for life. Life and death are happening all the time. They exist together, inseparably, in the same breath. This relationship goes even beyond the breath. Breath is only a supporting actor; the real process is of the life energy, or prana, that controls physical existence. With certain mastery over prana, one can exist beyond breath for substantial amounts of time. Breath is a bit more immediate in its requirement, but in the same category as food and water.

Death is such a fundamental aspect, because if one small thing happens, you can be gone tomorrow morning. Why tomorrow morning—one small thing now and you could be off the next moment. If you were like any other creature, maybe you would be unable to think about all this, but once one is endowed with human intelligence, how can you just ignore such a significant aspect of your life? How can you avoid it and live on as if you are going to be here forever? How is it that after living here for millions of years of life, human beings still don’t know a damn thing about death? Well, they know nothing about life either. We know all the trappings about life, but what do you know about life as such?

Fundamentally, this situation has come about because you have lost perspective as to who you are in this Universe. If this solar system, in which we are, evaporates tomorrow morning, no one will even notice it in this Cosmos. It is that small, just a speck. In this speck of a solar system, Planet Earth is a micro speck. In that micro speck, the city you live in is a super-micro speck. In that, you are a big man. This is a serious problem. When you have completely lost perspective as to who you are, how do you think you will grasp anything about the nature of life or death?

Want to read more? Death is available now!

Will Ullis be Alright?- An Excerpt from ‘Low’

Posted on by Penguin India

Following the death of his wife, Dominic Ullis escapes to Bombay in search of oblivion and a dangerous new drug, Meow Meow. So begins a glorious weekend of misadventure as he tours the teeming, kaleidoscopic city from its sleek eyries of high-capital to the piss-stained streets, encountering a cast with their own stories to tell, but none of whom Ullis – his faculties ever distorted – is quite sure he can trust. Heady, heartbroken and heartfelt, Low is a blazing joyride through the darklands of grief towards obliteration – and, perhaps, epiphany.

Read an excerpt from the book below:

The mysterious quality of in-flight air. The low whine of tinnitus, a charged anxious ringing that kept adjusting its volume. The sense of something about to happen, something decisive. Then the lights dimmed as the aircraft dropped through the clouds and prepared to land. It taxied and turned, taxied and stopped.

Payal sprang up again, grabbed her wheeled case from the overhead bin, and went to the front exit, resplendent in her sari. Ullis stayed where he was until the other passengers had left. Then he put half an Ambien under his tongue and took the white plastic box from the overhead bin and floated towards the lovely slum city.

He’d left Delhi on a whim, carrying only the box from the crematorium. If not for the box what would he do with his hands? He would wring them. Repeatedly. Aki was dead and he didn’t know what to do from one moment to the next. The vast abstraction of time reduced to this: stupefaction with the hands. For now it was okay. For now his hands were cradling the box that contained her ashes.

The events of the week had passed through him without resistance from the moment he came home to find Aki dead in the study.

He’d panicked and called her mother. Then he drove to her house, breathless and shouting in the suffocating car. Aki’s mother had come back with him to the apartment in Defence Colony and they’d taken his wife’s body to the hospital. A quartet of stone-faced orderlies had moved her from the emergency room to the morgue. All night the panic sat like a heavy bear on his chest. The bear stayed for many days and nights, until it gave way to exhaustion and blessed amnesia. His mind disengaged from his surroundings. He felt separated from his body, but only partially, as if he’d been insufficiently anaesthetised.

Later, the only thing he remembered clearly was the crematorium, the priests in their white dhotis and saffron forehead smears, their oily faces peering at him from clouds of smoke, the cold young eyes devoid of all earthly emotion except boredom. He’d been shaken by their indifference and dazed by all that was expected of him.

Her mother had dressed Aki in a spectacularly inappropriate multi-coloured silk sari, and she’d made Ullis don a black suit and white shirt. He’d added a pair of chocolate loafers for urgent private reasons and foregone a tie as a concession to the April heat. This was how husband and dead wife had arrived at the crematorium: dressed for a wedding, in clothes neither had worn in their life together.

The suit and sari had been unnecessary. There were no mourners, no witnesses other than a handful of crematorium employees and Ullis and his dry-eyed mother-in-law. She had organised the cremation in such haste that there had been no time to call those who had known Aki and loved her. There was no time for anything other than the observance of rituals, each more pointless than the next.

The bored priests had mouthed their inane mantras. They had sifted uncooked rice and read from ancient leather-bound tomes and stared with their oily eyes. They rang tiny brass bells in a sequence to which only they were privy. (The bells are an omen, and they ring more than once in this story.) When they demanded of him some minor role in the general pagan tumult, he had obliged with the acquiescence required of the husband of the bride. After all, this was what she had been made to resemble, a young bride in silks and flowers. Except that the marigolds were uniformly wilted. Were they leftovers from a previous funeral?

When the priests told him to push the button that would slide her into the electric furnace, he had worried that the absurd sari would burst into flame.

He’d taken a last look at her slight figure dwarfed by piles of flowers and sundry low-priced objects, her face obscured by the sari’s pallu, artfully obscured so no viewer would remark at the blood vessels that had burst on her cheeks and forehead and neck like scarlet-brown buds that would never bloom. “Kar do,” the priest had said. Obediently Ullis slid her in, and some time later his mother-in-law divided his wife’s ashes into two boxes: “One for you and one for me.”

From the crematorium, clutching the box and dressed in his mourning suit, he walked into the dust of an enclosed courtyard surrounded by dead trees and broken concrete columns. From there he walked into the dust of the street.

“Dominic,” his mother-in-law had said. “You will be all right.”

“No,” he said. Was she now his former mother-in-law?

“Of course you will,” she said. “You’ll be just fine.”

“Okay.”

“Shall I ask Jeevan to drop you home?”

“No thank you,” he said. “I’ll take a taxi.”

“Arré, why? I have car and driver. He can drop.”

“I’ll take a cab. But thanks.”

As soon as he took a seat in the back of the battered white Honda that smelled of garam masala and hand sanitiser, Ullis decided not to return to the empty apartment in Defence Colony where each room reminded him of his dead wife and his abject failure as a husband and a man.

What was the point of going home? It was the last place he wished to go. No, he could do better. He’d travel to a city by the sea. After all, was he not carrying his wife’s ashes and did they not need to be immersed?

“Can you take me to the airport?”

The driver was young and easily shocked. He seemed unreasonably upset by the change of plans.

“Sir, I cannot,” he said.

“But why not?”

“First, you must change destination on phone.”

Ullis opened the app. He deleted “Defence Colony” from the drop location and typed in ‘Delhi Indira Gandhi International Airport’.

In half an hour he was at a reservation desk where he bought himself a ticket to the city he knew best, where oblivion was purchased cheaply and without consequence.

Low is a blazing joyride through the darklands of grief towards obliteration – and, perhaps, epiphany. The book is available now!

A Coherent View of the Macrocosm of Pakistan

Posted on by Penguin India

In the seventy or so years since Independence, much less has been written about the Princely States which acceded to Pakistan than those that remained in India. The name of the once great State of Bahawalpur is no longer remembered among its well-mapped peers over the border in Rajasthan.

Bahawalpur is a series of conversations between the author, Anabel Loyd and Salahuddin Abbasi, amir of Bahawalpur and the son of the erstwhile Nawab of Bahawalpur. The latter reminisces about his family and sheds light on Bahawalpur’s princes through old records, letters etc.

The book begins with a quote from Shakespeare’s infamous play, The Tempest, ‘What’s past is prologue’. This means that the past is a preface to the future – we cannot forget the lessons of history. As Salahuddin Abbasi takes you back, you can’t help but draw parallels between the long forgotten princely state of Bahawalpur of the past and the Pakistan of the present.

Jinnah’s aspirations for nationality and not communality- buried 

Jinnah’s vision of a country had been buried, over time- not only under the flow of patronage and corruption but also under the illusion and imperative, the ‘mirage’, of the Islamic state.  

The sheer one-upmanship of the everyday, increasingly archaic, public practice of religion in Pakistan hinders the running of a contemporary progressive state and argues an almost impossible case for reinstatement of Jinnah’s aspirations for nationality rather than communality. 

While the state promises Jannat to the poor, the young do dream of a better existence

Pakistan is more than ever girt with the restraints of caste, creed and class, but young people continue to dream of something better and of levelling the ground. Those living in extreme poverty may be easily seduced or coerced by the promises of extreme Islam: a glorious life to come after death providing some sort of solace or reward for the lack of any uplift through education or public services during the only earthly existence available to them.

The partition may have given us hindsight…

Pakistan looks backwards for religious authenticity, to a dream of national identity and unity never fulfilled after Partition which tore the country from its past.


But Pakistan no longer looks back far enough to its extraordinary history as part of a greater whole. That pas was cast into the deep chasm of Partition.

…But what about foresight?

Nowadays the country often appears neither to look back nor forwards beyond the trappings of new infrastructure in transport systems, shopping malls and increased urbanization. Such changes leave the poor exactly where they have always been, with nothing, and, regardless of the blandishments of government, does little to encourage outsiders to come in.

The wealthy get enmeshed in the threads of corruption and nepotism while trying to rise above it

Education abroad seems to have become a standard for those who have inherited status or have gained vast new wealth. Not all are lured for long by migration for the sake of further fortune. Those who return are entrepreneurial, creative and determined to find ways to circumvent or rise above endemic corruption in order to move forward. However, they may already be enmeshed in the threads of nepotism and corruption by virtue of the endless unbreakable network of familial connections at the top of Pakistani politics and society.

Anyone with a penchant for history and politics would definitely consider Bahawalpur an insightful read. Read it and tell us what you think?

From Vidya Balan to Sachin Tendulkar: Leaping Across Borders and Beliefs

Posted on by Penguin India

Jai is fourteen and dreams of owning a café in Delhi. Inaya is fifteen and dreams of playing cricket for Pakistan.

In Across the Line, Jai and Inaya’s unlikely worlds collide, and an equally unlikely story unfolds. A story that started with the drawing of a line. And a story that transcends borders, beliefs, and timelines.

We are having a look at some of our favourite people, who have taken this journey penned down by Nayanika Mahtani:

Vidya Balan: “A compelling and uplifting story…”

One of India’s favourite actresses, Vidya Balan has lauded the story for its earnestness and emotive power.

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Sachin Tendulkar: “…what unites us bigger than what divides us.”

We were delighted to hear that our favourite cricketer lauded the story too!

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Asif Farrukhi: “…this book lights a candle of hope and peace.”

We are also extremely happy to see some love coming across the border!

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Asma Said Khan: “A much needed book at a time when hatred of the ‘other’ has become endemic…”

Some more love from even farther beyond!

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Sharmeen Obaid-Chinoy: “…a tribute to all the unsung heroes who have fought silent battles even after the Partition.”

 

Across the Line is about the Partition and the human impact of borders that still lingers amongst us today. It makes for a must-read story in today’s times with its message of unity and love across borders and beliefs.

 

 

How can Nepal Become an ‘Asian Tiger’?

Posted on by Penguin India

By 2040, it is projected that China will be the largest economy in the world, followed by India. The two put together will have nearly a third of the world’s population and GDP. Now, there exists an opportunity for Nepal to unleash its potential and return to the time when it had the advantage of being in between two prospering neighbours. In ‘Unleashing the Vajra’, author Sujeev Shukya tries to understand the past in order to learn how to get the future right—Nepal now has just two decades to relive its glorious past.

The listicle below brings to the forefront a few quick facts to show that Nepal has the potential to regain its past glory and make a mark.

Strategic Location 

By 2050, it is estimated that, the Shanghai–Mumbai axis will continue to dominate the agenda of future markets, economic development and global economic thought leadership. Nepal falls right in the middle of all this.

Population Boon 

Nepal is geographically small, but Nepalis tend to forget that they are also the forty-eighth most populated country in the world with a population that is nearly one and a half times that of Australia, and only a few millions less than that of Canada.

Tourism

An annual tourist volume of more than 30 million Chinese travelling to the Tibet Autonomous Region every year can also be a potential lucrative market for Nepal.

Vision 

Nepal needs to look at how it will deliver the same vision of prosperity to its people by 2050 with equal emphasis on capital, asset utilization, parameters of human development, and of course, happiness.

Economy and Growth

For Nepal to graduate to a middle-income country by 2030, when the country’s population will be around 36 million, it needs to be a $100 billion economy with a per capita income of $2500. This would require an investment of about $7–8 billion each year.

New Model 

Nepal is the prospective bridge between India and China, two countries that will be controlling 35 percent of global GDP in 2050. This is the time for Nepal to emerge with a new economic growth model rather than being a yam between two boulders.

Sujeev Shakya argues that it is imperative to understand history and learn from it to shape events for a better future. Unleashing the Vajra outlines the factors that will determine Nepal’s destiny in the years to come.

“Happy, Happy You Make Me!” – Meet Alicia’s Dearest George!

Posted on by Penguin India

There’s a reason they say February is the month of love. Thanks to Alicia Souza, and her (PDA-aversive) husband, George, we have had the corniest and loveliest and mushiest February so far (who could have thought we had it in us?).

Our favourite illustrator is admitting her love in artistic style! Amidst all the cuddles and kisses and the banter of married life, our biggest takeaway from her latest book Dearest George is how much these two lovebirds mean to each other.

Call it a post-valentine’s hangover, but we decided to revisit what George means to Alicia!

He is family. Period.

We have said this before and we will say it again – this is our favourite family portrait!

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Admit it, Alicia – You Love the (Closeted) Romantic!

We know the whole point of penning down this book was to prove to the world that George is, after all, as mushy as all of us.

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Heart of Gold AND a Nice Beard – What’s not to Love?

We totally feel the shared love for food, to be honest.

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The Momo Cuddles.

Isn’t companionship about those special lazy mornings, after all?

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He is Versatile.

George is a complete package, we have to say. #HusbandGoals, much?

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The Perfect Cure for Bad Days.

Nothing compares to the person that can make you smile on bad days – we know how difficult that is!

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He Makes her HAPPY. 

Do we need to say more?

George makes Alicia happy – and us too, because this book wouldn’t exist without him!

February is incomplete without celebrating love, and with this post, we are also thanking George for bringing so much love into Alicia’s life and ours!

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